Avatar: The Legend Of The Other
by MujakiX
Summary: In the place between waking and slumber, Harry Potter can see another world beckoning to him. Just before the arrival of his Hogwarts Letter, he makes a choice between a saving a world he has only dreamed of and the world in which he lives in misery...
1. Prologue: The Runaway part I

**Avatar: The Legend of The Other**

* * *

_**Prologue... The Runaway**_

* * *

_He is young... so very young. Already touched by destiny. There is evil in this world as well._

_There is always evil, just as there is always the will to fight against it._

_Is this right? Who are we to take him from his crib?_

_Not yet... he is not yet ready..._

* * *

_"The__ one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ..."_

He had begged.

Kneeling before the Dark Lord, he pleaded his case. The Longbottoms were pure-bloods! Surely they would beget a more powerful child, one capable of stopping him? He was given carte blanche to search the available records. Loyalists in The Ministry provided whole family trees, a year's worth of reports from the Auror's offices, and a listing of every non-friendly worker alive and of child-bearing age in Britain. The Prophecy was frustratingly vague, yet when the genealogies were compiled and birth records scoured the Dark Lord _still_ chose the other boy.

The Potter's child.

Lily's son.

When he was done speaking, he carefully gazed up at his master. The Dark Lord's face was twisted into a lip-less grin, his small, white teeth glittering in a black mouth. He heard a reedy voice thanking him for his efforts in finding the child, that when his thousand-year rule was established he could have anything he wanted. When the Dark Lord turned to his other followers, he sang the praises of Severus Snape – though there was an undercurrent of mockery in his voice. The poisoned sweetness when he asked them if he should fulfill Snape's request to spare Lily Potter was met by dark laughter. Snape was certain his heartbeat could be heard pulsing around the room when the Dark Lord turned around to face him, and he tried not to cringe when long, spidery fingers stroked his cheek. Lily Potter would be spared, the Dark Lord rasped into his ear, because He was a _merciful_ Lord.

Lily Potter would be spared.

But not her son.

Snape whispered his thanks as he struggled to keep the bile down.

There was no question that Severus Snape hated James Potter, and by all accounts the feeling was mutual. That hate was further tempered when he married Lily Evans, and not a day went by that Snape wasn't haunted by the day his friendship with her ended. Lily Evans... miraculous and brilliant, stubborn and faithful. True to her word, she never spoke to him again no matter how much he pleaded. How he begged...

And now he sat in the dark, nursing a bottle of firewhiskey in the same house he was raised. There had to be a way to save them. _Them. _Snape was no fool – if the Dark Lord kept his word and spared Lily alone, there was no way she would ever forgive him for the deaths of her husband and child. Not that he wanted their blood on his conscience. James Potter tried to murder him, ossifying an enmity which would probably survive to his dying day, but Snape refused to sink to Potter's level! He would be the better man, even if Lily would never see it. He would save them, _all_ of them. If Lily never gave him a second thought, it was enough that she lived, that her family lived.

He swallowed the last of his cup and grimaced at the fiery belch that followed. Snape knew he was no weakling, and of all the Dark Lord's followers only Bellatrix exceeded his prowess. Not that he would ever challenge her to a fair duel – should the time ever come to deprive the Dark Lord of his right hand, Snape was ready. A poisoned blade through her heart as she slept would silence her just as effectively as the Killing Curse and would leave no evidence. The others could and eventually would fall to his wand... but not the Dark Lord. Despite all his strength, facing the Dark Lord on his weakest day would still be suicide.

There was only one person who could help him, who would even be willing to help a known Death Eater... Albus Dumbledore. Snape hoped that the price he demanded wouldn't be too high... though in his heart he knew that no matter the cost he would pay it anyway. Severus Snape knew he couldn't stand against the force-of-nature that was the Dark Lord, so he did the only thing he knew he could. The thing that only Lily Evans could bring out of him.

He would beg.

* * *

His _opponent_ slid hit the wall with a wet snap before collapsing against it, a red smear marking it's path to the ground. One hazel eye glared vacantly at Lord Voldemort, the other partially closed as if in the midst of a macabre wink, and for a moment the Dark Lord wondered if he should close them for propriety's sake.

_No_, he decided. There was no reason to, really. Severus' hatred for James Potter was well-known... he would enjoy the sight of his enemy mangled on the kitchen floor when he arrived to claim the Mudblood as his own. With the coppery scent of blood in the air, it was almost beautiful to behold. Yes, he would leave this for his faithful servant.

He was a merciful Lord after all.

He ascended the stairs with a deliberate pace, letting each creak and groan echo through the house. It likely would have been easier to glide up the stairs, and easier still to disapparate into the room, but Voldemort _wanted_ the Mudblood to know he was coming. He was certain that she was preparing something to stop him, and part of him wanted to know what the woman would come up with. Several of his followers praised her ingenuity, however grudgingly, and Severus was still enamored with her after all these years. Truly, there must be something interesting about the girl beyond her talent.

Lord Voldemort could appreciate talent, no matter where it was found.

A dull light shown behind a bedroom door at the end of the hallway, and the eagerness inside him grew. He quickened his pace and with a simple _swish _of his wand the door opened. Inside, a slender red-headed woman stood very still in the center of the room.

Just behind her was a crib, and he grinned.

The moment he passed through the threshold, her eyes opened wide, and the Dark Lord steeled himself against anything that could be coming. He reached out his senses... and he couldn't help but sense the disappointment at the lack of magic in the air.

Nothing. She had prepared nothing.

It was time to end this.

He asked her to step aside, knowing that she would refuse. She wept and then she bullied, and Voldemort had to marvel at the fact he was being browbeaten by a woman who _had_ to know there was no point in trying to sway the opinion of her Lord. Barely a woman, even. In the candlelight, she seemed impossibly young. Too young to have birthed the child that would one day bring about his downfall. Finally, she fell to her knees and grabbed at his robes, begging for the life of her spawn, tears freely streaming from her frighteningly green eyes. Disgust settled in the belly of the Dark Lord, and only his promise to Severus to spare her kept from murdering her on the spot. He waved his hand, and Lily Potter was tossed aside.

He despised weakness.

In the crib was a child... a baby that stared curiously at him with the same emerald green eyes as his mother. A tiny creature that would one day vanquish him, erasing everything he had worked for. He was helpless, but he wouldn't stay that way. Lord Voldemort was long desensitized to killing, especially when there was a certain beauty to be found in it. But what was there to be gained in murdering a child? What thrill was there in hunting what couldn't fight back, to conquer another so utterly they _wanted_ to die? The child in the crib was too young to even comprehend death in all it's glorious facets, and would barely be aware of it's own life being snuffed out. If not for that thrice-damned Prophecy, he would have simply killed his parents for defying him and collected their heads as his spoils. Let the child be adopted out to a proper family to raise him in the glory of the Dark Lord.

But there was no other way to ensure his reign...

With a sigh, he raised his wand, "_Avada Kedavra!"_

The tip of the wand had only just flared green when Lily Potter dove into its path, and with a whimper she collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

The child screeching brought him back to himself, and Lord Voldemort frowned when he saw Lily Potter lifeless on the floor. He reached out with a foot and turned her face-up, and wide, unblinking eyes confirmed what he already knew.

What a waste... perhaps he should find a token for Severus to appease him for the Mudblood's death.

He returned his attention to the child in it's crib, and he readied his wand again.

The words came to him as they had countless times before.

There was a flare of green.

And the Dark Lord's world exploded.

He was caught in a maelstrom, his body withering against a typhoon that had bloomed _inside the child's bedroom!_ His flesh felt like it was burning, and it was all Lord Voldemort could do to remain standing. His eyes widened when the wooden crib burst into flames, and the ashes scalded his skin as the wind swept them past. In the center of it all, floating in the air as if suspended by a puppeteer's strings, was _the child._ It (for he could only really be called **IT **in this moment) glared at him from eyes so ethereally white it hurt to look upon them, and upon it's forehead was a tiny wound in the shape of a lightning bolt that dripped that same luminescent horror.

**Tom Riddle... ** A thunderous voice emanated from the walls, from the air, leeching into his very _mind..._ **Your ravaged soul has no place in Our Presence.**

There was a spark in the air, and a searing wind burned off his robes and blistered his skin. Was this the power? Lord Voldemort couldn't hold back the scream as he kneeled before the monster in front of him, "Please..."

**You are so corrupted that you can not stand before us, and you think to beg?**

A sound like a wet crack was lost against the din, as was the gurgling cry when all the air was forcibly sucked from his lungs, and the ability of speech was stripped from the Dark Lord.

**You will not have our Chosen. Now BEGONE!**

And like a candle, Tom Marvolo Riddle flickered before fading like smoke in the wind.

* * *

_What Monster locks a child away for asking about it's parents?_

_He isn't of their world... they, more than anyone else, can sense it._

_And that makes it right? We need to help him!_

_The Moon has given her blessing. I will be the first..._

* * *

I was eight years old when I met the first of them.

The first thing I noticed about her was the way she was dressed. It was the middle of summer, yet she was wrapped in a long, blue coat trimmed with white fur. I had seen women wearing such things in the magazines Aunt Petunia left laying about the house, but it made no sense for a lady like that to be walking around a park on a sunny day. She was pretty, with lightly tanned skin and straight brown hair... but something about her face made it seem hard and unfriendly. Still, when the woman caught sight of me she smiled, and it made the angles of her face melt away.

"Hello, child."

I wasn't certain if she had been talking to me, and I glanced around even though I knew there was no other person hiding in the bushes, "Um... hello there."

She came closer to me, and I had to quash the urge to back away when she reached out to ruffle my hair, "You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you."

Despite years of being told in Primary School to avoid talking to strangers, something in the odd woman's voice comforted me. Her hand was cool to the touch, but the sensation was familiar, "Who are you?"

The woman bent down until we were face to face, her steel-colored eyes meeting mine, "My name is Hama."

* * *

Her coat was too large for me, but it's thick leather and furs kept me warm as we trekked through a city made of ice. I had only closed my eyes for a second, but in that space I felt Hama's hand squeeze mine when an icy chill raced down my spine and into my veins.

"This was my home, Harry Potter. Welcome to the Southern Water Tribe."

I had only seen igloos in picture books – small, icy domes with doors shaped like a mousetraps. They looked ridiculous to me then, simplified and cartoonish. Seeing the real thing banished all of my childish ideas away. Domes were only the beginning – I saw entire _homes_ made from snow and ice. None of them were as big as the house I lived in, but with the children playing in the streets and people carrying round, earthen pots to and fro, this place was _alive! _More alive then the Privet Drive by any stretch.

"It's beautiful." I whispered, and I couldn't help but blush at the smile that graced Hama's lips.

"I can show you more, if you like."

I don't know how long we spent just... walking around. In front of a gigantic igloo, I saw men practicing elaborate movements with spears and angled clubs, and I marveled at how fierce they looked despite the repetition of their routine. When I asked Hama about it, she simply chuckled softly and told me that anything worth doing is worth doing correctly.

"Practice, Harry... it's the only way we've survived this long."

Somehow I couldn't imagine Hama charging into battle with a spear in hand "You practice this?"

"No... not this." She reached for my hand and led me away from the fledgling warriors, "Let me show you something."

We came to the very edge of the city, where an impossibly high wall of solid ice surrounded it. Stepping in front of me, I heard Hama take a deep breath and lean low to the ground, her hands facing the sky. There was an audible _groan_ as the ground before us split, and a geyser of water burst from it. She abruptly stood straight, her hands curving as if trying to hold up some invisible force... and I saw the water curl and writhe with her movements. I stood stunned as she shaped a pillar of water wider than she was tall into a curving staircase, and as she exhaled, the water went rigid and froze on the spot. The newly-formed stairs were fused into the wall as though they had always been there.

Hama turned to me, her cheeks ruddy from the effort and the biting cold "_That_ is what I practice."

She called it Waterbending.

There was so much _excitement_ in her voice as she described it, how the Moon fueled her strength as a child. How she always beat the other children in snowball fights because she could make her own snowballs out of thin air. How her Grandfather told her she was the youngest person to waterbend he could remember.

How the Village Elders came to her home one day with a box full of toys, and how she thought they were gifts for her birthday.

How they told her that she was the Avatar.

She stopped smiling when she told me that.

"What is the Avatar?"

Hama looked up at me, a sad smile on her face "The Avatar is the soul of our world, Harry. A soul that is reborn in order to bring balance to our world."

"And how do they do that?"

Something tickled my nose, and I reached up to scratch it on reflex. When I pulled my hand back, I noticed my fingers were smudged with soot.

_Soot_?

Hama was already looking into the sky, and I saw fat, dark flakes of soot in the air, falling like some dark mockery of snow. The hard angles of her face came back as she turned to face the ocean "Any way they can."

In the distance, I saw pillars of smoke across the horizon reaching into the heavens like countless black fingers. It scared me like nothing in my young life ever had.

"Let's go, Harry. I would rather not live through this again."

* * *

I woke up in my cupboard to my Uncle Vernon's screaming, his face redder than I've ever seen it.

Sometime during the night, all the pipes in the house had frozen solid.


	2. Prologue: The Runaway part II

The other boy frowned when he saw the bruise on my arm – a rapidly darkening hand-print broad enough to wrap around my arm, "Are you alright?"

Aunt Petunia had pitched a fit when she realized that none of Dudley's sweaters were tight enough to keep from sliding off my too-thin frame. I think it was the only time I had ever seen her yell at Uncle Vernon on my behalf, if only because of the 'inconvenience' of having to track down a thrift shop that sold sweaters in the heat of the summer. Vernon's only defence was that 'he didn't hit the freak', which was true. Though my shoulder was still quite sore from when he yanked me out of my cupboard so hard I thought my arm would tear right off.

"I've had worse."

Glancing at him, I noticed his unusual state of dress – a red and gold colored loop of fabric that wrapped around one shoulder and tucked into loose brown trousers. The trousers themselves were very baggy, though it seemed to be deliberate as they themselves were tucked into dark knee-high boots. The boy wearing them was tall and slender... not much older than me, really. He was completely bald, though a blue arrow was tattooed down his forehead and across his shoulders and hands.

Aunt Petunia would have dialed emergency at the sight of him.

I think that's the reason I gave him a chance, "Who are you?"

The tattooed boy had an easy-going smile and a reedy voice, "My name is Aang."

The boy who only I could see could _fly._ He zipped over the heads of the other children on the playground to my delight, and not for the first time did I wonder if I was going crazy. Seeing people no one else could was a sign that something was wrong with me, right?

He landed next to me on the tree – despite the fact he was bigger than I was, the branch I had settled on didn't bend at all. The tree was my own solitary place in the summer, and the branch I sat on was chosen specifically because it would support my weight and mine alone. I remembered when Dudley was still capable of climbing the tree... the moment he stepped onto this branch it gave way beneath his mass and he tumbled to the ground. He was home-bound for a bit more than two months, and that gave me the most peaceful summer of my young life.

So why could this boy stand next to me like it was nothing?

"Am I crazy?"

"What?" Aang had a look of utter shock in his eyes, "No! Why would you think that?"

"Because no one else can see you. And I know I'm awake this time. I'm awake and seeing someone who can't possibly exist."

"You aren't crazy, please trust me!" Aang crouched down to look me in the eyes, "I thought I was crazy at first too."

It was my turn to be shocked, "At first?"

"When they told me I was the Avatar."

The small breeze that rustled the leaves around me should have soothed me. They always had before... it's funny how at eight years old I could already appreciate the little things.

I used to think it was just because of how I grew up. Stashed away in a dark cupboard after dinner and chores, released just before breakfast for more chores and to prepare for the walk to school. Uncle Vernon never beat me, or any of the other horrible things some children my age went through (though he did come close several times... the bruise on my arm could attest to that), but he liked to go through his life believing I didn't exist. My mere presence agitated him, which in turn riled up Aunt Petunia. I didn't particularly like the cupboard, but it was better than the alternative and suffering their company. The days when I was allowed to roam the neighborhood (so long as I didn't come back until dinner) were my own special heaven. Even when Dudley and his friends would try and chase me down, the wind at my back always let me keep ahead of them. The Sun that was uncomfortably hot for everyone else felt simply normal for me – I never burned. And when it rained, I would go running in it, though I always managed to be completely dry by the time I got back to Privet Drive. I thought that being locked away made me value the little things.

And it was... but it wasn't the only reason.

"You were the Avatar?"

I could barely hear Aang's voice over the sound of the leaves, "I wasn't a very good one."

* * *

"When I was twelve... the Fire Nation came."

As I lay in my cot that night, I thought about the boy's story. Like Hama, he had mastered his art – Airbending, he called it – at an exceptionally young age. He was told that he was the Spirit of the World made flesh a few short months before his twelfth birthday, destined to master all four elements and bring balance to the world. But he never had the chance to.

Twelve years old, and he opposed the army that came to wipe out his people. An Army that breathed flame and didn't care who they killed... women, children, the old, no one was spared. When the Fire Nation came for him, they didn't just want to murder the Avatar, they wanted to extinguish the people who raised him. Genocide.

Genocide... at eight years old I had heard of the word. I could define it. But at that age there is _nobody_ who can fathom the death of so many people. The death of thousands. There are some adults who can't grasp that concept, let alone a child. And even though Aang was older than me, he didn't realize what had occurred until after the battle. In one day, against a blood-red sky, three-quarters of Aang's people died.

A nightmare. A living nightmare.

I didn't sleep well that night. With the winds howling outside, I don't think anyone else on Privet Drive did either.

* * *

_I couldn't do it... he's so young..._

_Young, but strong. Strong enough to stand against the creatures he lives with..._

_You can barely call them alive..._

_I will tell him... for all our sakes..._

* * *

"You should breathe, Young Avatar."

It was difficult to hear the tall man when my teeth threatened to chatter right out of my mouth. Due to the "expenses" I incurred earlier in the year, Uncle Vernon deemed the jumpers Petunia had purchased good enough for the Winter instead of a proper coat. With January fast approaching, even dressing in layers was proving ineffective against the bitter chill. Dudley had turned the house into a multi-leveled playroom for his nineteen new presents, and thus I was booted out for the day. With Mrs. Figg away on holiday and the library too far to walk, I was again at the park. I actually had a swing to myself, though I cut a lonely figure sitting there with my feet dangling listlessly off the ground. Perhaps the one good thing about the weather was that I was the only person there.

No one else around to listen to me talk to myself.

"I am breathing."

The older man frowned, and by now I didn't even find his outfit strange - a red, flowing robe with meticulous embroidery along the sleeves. A slight wind had picked up, and it only served to drive the cold further into my bones. If _he _was cold, he certainly didn't show it.

"If you were in true control of your breath, you would _never _be cold."

He leaned onto one knee to meet my eyes, "Close your eyes, child, and take a deep breath."

I did as I was told, never questioning precisely _why _as he continued to speak, "Exhale, slowly. I want you to find your heartbeat."

That part was simple - between having my eyes closed and the chilly air, the echo of my heartbeat was harsh against my head. When I told him as much, I didn't have to see in order to sense the smile in his words.

"Breathe again, and this time I want you to _push _your heartbeat down into your chest. With every breathe, I want you to imagine it sinking lower and lower until it's just above your belly."

A deep breath.

My heartbeat was thudding against my eardrums, and I struggled to wrap my mind around this tangible _thing _inside me.

"Don't hold your breath! This is basic, Young Avatar. It is the easiest thing in the world."

A deep breath.

I was sliding off my swing, and I didn't even care. Inside, I was wrestling with something that refused to be tamed. How did I never notice this before? How did I go through life never knowing the _power_my heart contained. It bucked and stirred within me, but as I exhaled I could feel it sinking.

A deep breath.

My heart wasn't content to sit in my chest and beat the way it was supposed to. It wanted freedom! My fingertips tingled with nervous energy, and a feeling like static brushed across them and up my arms. I had finally slipped completely out of the swing, my feet settling in the ground with utter familiarity.

_Rooted._

Breathe.

I exhaled, and I couldn't stop the low moan of pleasure as a glorious warmth spread through my veins. My heart settled gently in my chest as something... _more _beat in sync with it. I had a second heart, a furnace that I knew instinctively was the source of my newly-discovered strength. When I opened my eyes, the old man had a wide grin on his face, his eyes crinkled with merriment.

"Good job, child."

Perhaps it was the giddiness I felt from finding this strange, new ability, or perhaps I understood even then what I was becoming, but I couldn't help but smile in kind at his praise, "My name is Harry."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Roku."

* * *

The Dursleys seemed quite surprised when I returned home with rosy cheeks and a smile on my face. Or perhaps 'disturbed' is a better word for it. Vernon was so put out by my behavior that he sent me to my cupboard on principle.

Not that it mattered. In my cupboard I could think about what I had been told, the truth that the others who had visited me tried desperately to avoid.

I am the Avatar.

"We are the Avatar, to be precise... Hama, Aang, you and I. Countless others, who I know you will meet in your lifetime."

Roku was tall and handsome as a young man, traits that continued even into his old age. He showed me his home in the Fire Nation, how the Fire Sages instructed him in the ways of the Avatar. I saw his best friend, Sozin...

The man who betrayed him.

The man who started the war.

"Sozin's campaign against us prevented the natural cycle of the Avatar from taking place. Because of me, Avatar Aang was informed of his status at a much younger age than usual."

Fire Lord Sozin had meticulously planned for the extermination of the Air Nomads, his strike coinciding with a comet that magnified the power of every firebender a hundred-fold. He might have succeeded, had Avatar Aang not mastered his element at an unprecedented age.

"Sozin was wily... when he knew his original plan wouldn't work, he instead dogged the fleeing Airbenders for years, never allowing the Avatar time to master the other elements."

Hama was able to escape long enough to master Earthbending, but with no one to instruct her in the ways of fire ("We must follow the cycle"), she returned home to the Southern Water Tribe. She ended up landlocked by a Fire Nation blockade for the remaining _fifty years _of her life.

"Hama was perhaps the most powerful Waterbender I had ever had the pleasure of seeing. But in a land of ice where her earthbending was useless, and most of her compatriots defeated or captured, she was eventually overcome. Fire Lord Azulon himself delivered the final blow when she was at her most powerful... and at our weakest."

It was _years_ before I understood exactly what happened, how the Spirit of the Avatar itself was nearly snuffed out of existence. Dying, but not quite dead yet, the Avatar Spirit reached out for someone, _anyone _it could bond with.

"We were weak, lower than we had ever been. But there was the spark of life. Your spark, Harry Potter. We reached across the Spirit World at the moment of your birth and found you, so we retreated within to lick our wounds."

I could see Roku's shoulders sag a bit, and he seemed so very much older in that moment, "We placed a burden on your shoulders, Young Avatar. Children should not have to fight in the battles of their forefathers. Very soon, we will ask too much of you. We will give you a choice, a choice that isn't a choice at all."

I was eight years old and basking in the glow of my new-found power. It wasn't _fair _to ask anything of me in that state of mind... which is likely why Roku did not ask it.

Not that my answer would have been any different.

* * *

[**A/N:** This is obscenely late, and I'm still not quite happy with it. I will tinker and edit it over the course of the week, and I'm more than willing to take suggestions. I won't date the next chapter, but it is coming soon.]


End file.
